The Walk
by SyrupylikeBreakfastinMontag
Summary: When Harry united the Deathly Hallows, he created a debt to Death. Now Death is calling that debt in. But how does Draco Malfoy fit into all of this? HP/DM DM/HP Harry/Draco Draco/Harry Contains slash.


The Walk

*Author's Note: Hi guys! This story takes place after the end of the 7th book, but ignores the epilogue. I hope you enjoy it!*

Harry should have known that there would be consequences. Humans weren't supposed to be masters of death. The three Deathly Hallows were never supposed to be united, but Harry had, and now there was a price to be paid.

What surprised Harry the most was how mundane his first meeting with Death was. Harry was lounging in one of the many booths in the Three Broomsticks, nursing a Butter beer and hiding out from the bone chilling cold of the snowy streets outside, when Death just strode in through the front door. It was like the beginning of a bad joke: _Death walked into a bar_. Harry couldn't say how he knew this man was Death; there was no scythe, no skeletal fingers or big billowy cloak, just a rather ordinary looking man with gingery hair and pallid, colorless skin, but Harry knew who he was immediately.

The man appeared to be around his early thirties most of the time, but occasionally, when he turned his head just so so that the lamplight bathed half his face in shadow, he looked ancient, as old as time itself. He had a gaunt, chiseled face with high, prominent cheekbones and a sharp, slightly crooked nose as though it had been broken and healed one too many times. He was also in need of a shave.

Death turned, appraising Harry with storm grey eyes, then he smiled a tiny, confident smile and strode casually over. Death pulled off his grey pea coat, tossing it absently onto the seat opposite Harry before sliding into the booth after it.

"Harry James Potter," he said warmly in a rich, gravelly voice. "You and I have debts to settle." Harry clutched his Butter beer protectively to his chest, his knuckles turning white with the strength of his grip.

"Do we?" he asked, trying to match Death's casual tone.

"We do," affirmed Death, leaning back comfortably in his seat and slinging one arm over the back of the booth. "You united my hallows. You died, and yet you live. You have spent your whole life avoiding me, Harry Potter."

"Many people have escaped death before," protested Harry. "Nicholas Flamel, Voldemort."

"Their debts have been settled," said Death with an air of finality, absently scratching his stubbly chin. Silence descended on the pair for a long moment in which Death just watched Harry expectantly, seemingly content to sit there waiting for a response for eternity if needed. Harry cleared his throat.

"Are you here to kill me?" he breathed quietly, as though saying it out loud might make it true. Death just smiled a tiny, amused smile.

"No, Harry Potter, I am not here for your life. That will come to me in time without any interference on my part. No, what I have come for is grunt work." Harry just stared.

"Grunt work?" he asked disbelievingly. "Like what?"

"Come with me," commanded Death, standing up and pulling on his coat. "I'll show you." Harry hurried to follow, almost putting his jacket on inside out in his haste before he caught himself. Death eyed Harry's abandoned Butter beer with interest, the way a dog would observe its owner's plate from under the dining table.

"Are you going to finish that?" he asked hopefully. Harry glanced down briefly at the half empty drink before returning his gaze to Death's hopeful features. He shrugged.

"I guess not." Death grinned, grabbing the glass quickly before Harry could change his mind and downing the rich amber fluid in one go.

"Mmm," hummed Death in pleasure. "I almost managed to actually taste that one." Harry shot Death a puzzled look.

"If you can't taste it, why bother taking it?" asked Harry, a little miffed that he hadn't at least lost his drink to a good cause.

"Nostalgia, sentimentality," shrugged Death, dropping the glass onto the table with a thunk and striding off towards the door. "Come on then. Wouldn't want to be late now, would we?"

"Late for what?" called Harry, eyeing his now empty glass in mild irritation one last time before jogging off to catch up to Death. Death held open the door for Harry, and the pair stepped out onto the snow lined street.

"Come on," said Death again, holding his hand out towards Harry expectantly. "I'll apparate us there. You would not be able to go with me if I traveled in my usual way." Harry hesitated for a moment, then took Death's proffered hand. It was surprisingly warm in his. Then Death spun on the spot and the pair vanished with a loud crack, leaving nothing but air where they had been a mere moment before.

"Malfoy Manor?" exclaimed Harry in surprise, recognizing the austere gates before him instantly.

"Yes," nodded Death. "I have business here." A shiver ran up Harry's spine, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Any business Death could have could not be good.

"Keep hold of my hand, Harry Potter," continued Death, starting forwards and dragging Harry along behind him. "I won't be able to take you with me otherwise." Then the pair stepped through the wrought iron of the gates as though it was as malleable as fog.

They had barely stepped through onto the Malfoy grounds when a loud and very indignant squawk made Harry jump. An albino peacock stood on the cobblestone path a mere foot in front of Death and Harry, its snow white feathers ruffled in surprise. If Harry hadn't known better, he would have sworn it was glaring at him, but peacocks couldn't glare, right?

"Shoo, bird," commanded Death, flapping his free hand at the large bird. The bird stood its ground, raising itself to its full height and glaring imperiously down its arched beak at them.

"Go on, shoo!" tried Death again hopefully. The bird didn't move. "I have steel toed boots and I'm not afraid to kick you with them," commented Death good-naturedly. The bird strutted off haughtily, as if trying to show that it was moving by choice and not because of Death's threat.

"Why wasn't it afraid of you?" asked Harry curiously as Death resumed leading him up towards the manor.

"Why should it be?" asked Death.

"Well, I mean, you're Death aren't you?" replied Harry, feeling a bit foolish. Death shrugged.

"It has no reason to fear me. Birds have no conception of death. It won't be real to that peacock until the time comes for me to collect its life, and even then the little bugger will probably still try to peck my eyes out."

"Things try to attack you?" Harry asked in surprise. Death smiled a secretive smile.

"They try." Harry decided to leave it at that. There was something worrying about that smile. Death led Harry up the marble steps to Malfoy Manor's oversized front door.

"Hold on tight, Harry Potter," commanded Death, and then the pair stepped through into the house. It was horribly still inside. The silence was tangible, hanging heavily in the air and weighing down on Harry's shoulders. Harry shivered. He had been through enough battles to know this feeling.

"What are we doing here?" Harry asked softly, gravely.

"Upstairs," was all Death said, pointing up the winding stair case at the other end of the broad entryway. Harry trudged slowly forward, walking as if in a dream. Each step up the stairs felt too fast, like time was suddenly going by too quickly. He didn't want to ever reach the top. Nothing good could be waiting for him up there. But all too quickly, Harry was at the top, his foot landing on the rich carpet of the hall with horrible finality.

"Down the hall," directed Death, suddenly standing by Harry's shoulder. "Third door on the left." Harry let his feet carry him forwards until he was facing a dark, ebony door. It was open a crack.

"Here." Death took Harry's hand once more, pulling him through the wood of the door and into the room beyond. It was a bedroom, decorated in Slytherin silver and green and dark woods. A huge canopy bed dominated one wall, decked out in rich hangings and clothed in silvery silk sheets. Spread out across these sheets and staining the rich fabric a deep crimson was Draco Malfoy, his platinum blonde hair fanned out around him. He wasn't moving. This was what he had always imagined Draco's room to look like, thought Harry. It was easier than thinking about the body on the bed.

"What happened here?" asked Harry softly.

"Some self-righteous prat determined to rid the world of any remaining ex-Death Eaters is what happened," drawled a bitter voice in response. The voice wasn't Death's. Draco Malfoy sat up, propping himself up on one elbow and sneering at Harry. Draco's body hadn't moved.

"Someone killed you for that after all this time?" asked Harry in surprise, meeting Draco's grey eyes straight on.

"No," drawled Draco sarcastically. "They just gave me a lecture and told me to take a time out. I just happened to fall on a knife after that. Seven times." Harry's emerald eyes filled with sympathy.

"Who would do such a thing?" he murmured, his eyes raking over Draco's bloody chest.

"The good guys," spat Draco bitterly. He stood up, disentangling himself from his lifeless body, and looked at Death expectantly.

"Well," Draco said in a tone much too casual for the gravity of the situation. "What happens now?" Death clapped Harry on the back.

"Now you follow your guide on," he said cheerfully. It took Harry a moment for his words to sink in.

"Wait, me? You want _me_ to guide him?" Harry asked incredulously.

"That's about the long and the short of it, yes," nodded Death.

"But how on Earth can I guide him," protested Harry. "I don't even know where it is I'm supposed to be taking him or how to get there."

"Oh I wouldn't worry about that, Harry Potter," commented Death. "Getting there is just instinct. Everyone knows how to die. It's as easy as breathing. And you will know the way especially well once you get there, seeing as how you've died before."

"But-but why me?" Harry stuttered, beginning to admit defeat.

"Yes," agreed Draco. "Why him? I've already been stabbed seven times today, why make it worse?" Death shrugged.

"He's your guide. That's the way it's supposed to be. Whether you like that fact or not is none of my concern. Life is not fair, Draco Malfoy, why on earth should death be?" Draco looked sulky, but he stopped complaining. Harry had a nasty feeling the complaints would come after Death left.

"Well then," said Death when it was clear no more protests were forthcoming. "I'll just get you two started then, shall I?" And then Harry karate chopped Harry in the neck, making him crumple, unconscious, to the ground. As soon as Harry hit the floor, Draco's ghostly form flickered and vanished. Death grinned an unrepentant, Cheshire grin. He loved that part. They never expected it.

Harry opened his eyes to brilliant whiteness, and it wasn't until Harry blinked rapidly that the whiteness settled into recognizable shapes. He was standing in a shallow river, luke warm water parting around his knees to continue along with the current. Harry had been expecting to arrive in the same strangely white version of King's Cross station as the last time he had died, but now that he was here, this river came as no surprise. After all, this was Draco's death, not his. Why should it be the same?

"How anti-climactic," drawled a bored voice from behind Harry. Draco stood there, arms crossed, glaring down at the water as though it had insulted him.

"So," he continued, looking around curiously. "What happens now?"

"No idea," shrugged Harry. "Maybe we should just follow the current?" It seemed like the only thing to do. Draco nodded, suddenly quiet. Maybe the reality of his situation was finally beginning to settle in. Harry took a tentative step forward and the sloshing of the water shifting around his feet echoed eerily around the flat, white landscape. The sloshing noises multiplied, and Draco stepped up to walk next to Harry, standing closer than Harry would have expected. For a while they walked in silence, just listening to the water part and flow around their legs, then Draco spoke.

"They killed me," he said quietly. "I'm… dead." Harry glanced over at Draco out of the corner of his eye. The blonde was staring down into the murky depths of the water swirling around his feet. To Harry's embarrassment Draco looked like he was about to cry. Harry had never been good around tears. Comforting people had always felt a bit awkward to him.

"Yeah," he muttered softly. He didn't know what to say. There were no words that could make death better. Not really. Draco looked up at Harry, examining him calculatingly.

"I'm never going to see you again after this," he stated flatly, frowning at Harry. "I'm never going to see anyone again after this."

"You don't know that," Harry soothed awkwardly. "Anything could happen after you die. Maybe when everyone else dies they'll join you and you will see them again." He didn't sound very convincing. Draco was silent for a moment, then he stepped closer to Harry, holding out his hand palm up in front of him.

"Hold my hand," he demanded quietly, his cheeks dusted a faint pink.

"What?" spluttered Harry, staring into Draco's flushed face in shock.

"I'm dead, Potter! Bloody hold my hand!" shouted Draco, glaring at Harry with all of the anger and frustration of his life being taken away from him. Harry just looked at Draco for a moment, watching as angry breaths raised and lowered Draco's chest. Harry wondered briefly if Draco was really breathing, or if the motions were just habit left over from life. Then Harry reached out and took Draco's hand in his, interlacing their fingers together. The pair just stood there for a moment, holding hands. Harry watched Draco in silence, and Draco tried not to cry. Finally, Draco deflated, giving in to his situation.

"Of all the people to be the last person I ever talk to, it had to be you…" murmured Draco finally, looking up at Harry in resignation. Harry didn't know what to say to that so he said nothing, but Draco didn't wait for him to reply anyway.

"I'm never going to grow up, never going to get a real job, get married, have kids, live the fucking white picket fence life." Harry didn't know what to do. All of that was true. Harry couldn't just say it would be ok and not to worry, because it wasn't going to be ok. The worst had happened, and unfortunately it wasn't going to get any better. Not knowing what to say, Harry settled for giving Draco's hand a squeeze. After all, the pair may have never really gotten along, but for whatever reason Harry was quite possibly going to be the last person Draco ever talked to, ever touched, ever saw, and he was going to do his best to make that mean something.

"I'm never going to get to move on from all of my mistakes," continued Draco, his voice getting quieter with each word, becoming less about telling Harry and more about telling himself. "I'm never going to have a chance to move on, to be more than a scared little prick in the Dark Lord's shadow."

"I think," began Harry slowly, thinking his words over carefully before he spoke, "that you actually weren't as bad as you seem to think." Draco raised a pale eyebrow, taken aback.

"What is this? Some kind of Gryffindor need be chivalrous? You've always hated me." Harry nodded.

"I have," he admitted, "but at the same time that hate did create some sort of odd connection between us. I mean, fuck, I spent like half my time back in school stalking you convinced you were up to no good."

"That's certainly true," commented Draco in a smug, teasing tone. "It was almost enough to make me wonder if you secretly were in love with me or something. I am after all, quite fanciable."

"Shut up, Malfoy! I'm trying to say something nice about you!" snapped Harry. Surprisingly, Draco actually complied and stopped talking. Knowing that this may well be their last conversation ever seemed to have real power over the both of them.

"Anyways," continued Harry, "what I was trying to say is that I did get to know several important things about you during all that following you around. Like I know that you were working so hard for Voldemort to save your family. And I know that you had the chance to kill Dumbledore, but you didn't. You were going to make the right decision before the choice was taken out of your hands by the arrival of the other Death Eaters."

"How the fuck do you know that?" asked Draco through gritted teeth, cheeks flushing in embarrassment and frowning distrustfully at Harry. "No one else was there that night. Dumbledore was alone. So how do you bloody well know that?"

"Dumbledore wasn't alone that night," Harry said simply. "I was there, immobilized under my invisibility cloak. I saw everything. I saw that you weren't going to kill him."

"I was a coward," snarled Draco, looking away from Harry and down at his own feet, his fingers unconsciously clenching Harry's hand almost painfully. "I had the chance and I couldn't fucking do it."

"No! no!" interjected Harry emphatically. "Not being able to kill an innocent man doesn't make you a coward, it makes you a good person! It means you weren't completely the asshole you kept trying to make yourself be, and you should be proud of that moment, even if you shouldn't be proud of a lot of other things you did that night. Besides, even the stupid crap you did like giving Katie the necklace and letting the Death Eaters into the castle, even though they really were dumb, awful things to do, you did them to save your parents from Voldemort's anger, and I guess, well, I guess I get that." The pair stood there in silence for a moment as each of them processed what Harry had just said. Harry stared down into the river, watching the swirling lines in the water as the clear liquid flowed unavoidably onward and further into death. When he finally looked up, he was embarrassed to see that Draco was crying, not body shaking sobs, but just silent tears trickling down over his cheeks.

"You're a twat," Draco finally declared, his voice shaking slightly with emotion.

"What?" asked Harry, eyes widening in indignant shock. He had just basically forgiven Draco for starting the battle that had killed Remus, Tonks, Fred and countless others, and Draco had the nerve to call him a twat? "How the hell am I a twat? I've just pretty much said I forgive you for everything you've done!"

"Well why the fuck couldn't you have said that before I died? Before it was too late to matter?" Tears were flowing down Draco's face in earnest now to collect in droplets on his chin before falling down to join the unavoidable pull of the current. "Do you have any idea what it would have meant to hear that even just a day ago? I mean, how the fuck could I begin to forgive myself if no one else, people my actions actually affected, could forgive me? And I can't believe I'm actually admitting this since it's bloody embarrassing, but I'm dead so I guess it doesn't really matter anymore, but ever since you first rejected my friendship there has always been a part of me that's been jealous of you and that's craved your recognition. I think that's probably why I pestered you so much when we were growing up. I mean, sure, I hated you just like u hated me, but I think that's why I hated you. I hated that you didn't want me, and at least you hating me meant you weren't indifferent about me. In fact, you hating me probably got me more of your attention than being your friend ever would. And now you're saying you forgive me, and I'm almost getting that recognition from you and it doesn't even fucking matter because some sod decided that I needed to die. So, yeah, Potter, you are a twat for being so damn late, so really fucking late." Harry just stood there in stunned silence. He felt like his brain was moving in slow motion, as though his thoughts had suddenly thickened into mud and were oozing way too slowly through his brain. This was too much to digest, too different from the way he had always viewed the world. It needed a moment. Finally Harry broke the tense silence.

"I'm sorry," he said gently. Draco just nodded, looking sadly into Harry's face. Then he stepped forward, leaning down to rest his forehead lightly on Harry's shoulder. The pair just stood there slightly awkwardly for a moment, then Harry relaxed, letting stiffened muscles settle, and placed his free hand on Draco's back and pulled the other boy into him in a proper embrace. Draco tentatively looped his free arm around Harry's lower back in return. They stood there for a minute, unmoving except for the rise and fall of their breathing, Harry noting in surprise that he could actually feel Draco exhale onto his skin, the breath skimming warmly over his skin despite Draco's lack of life.

"The current seems to be getting stronger," commented Draco from his position on Harry's shoulder, showing no signs of wanting to move.

"Yeah," replied Harry, frowning down at the water in front of him, which did indeed seem to be moving more quickly and pressing more insistently against his legs. Harry tensed for a minute, his arms tightening around Draco's thin frame then a determined frown took root on his face. "But it's not so strong that we can't still walk up stream."

"What?" asked Draco, pulling back from Harry so that he could meet Harry's eyes once more. "Why would we do that? We're obviously supposed to go downstream."

"Fuck that," exclaimed Harry spinning around and starting to march back upstream, dragging a confused Draco along behind him with an iron grip. "When I died and came to a place like this it was because I had options. If I wanted to move on, all I had to do was board a train, but I could still go back if I chose to."

"What the hell are you on about, Potter?" demanded Draco looking around at the endless plane of water and obviously wondering how the hell a train could get here.

"When I died! Merlin, don't you get it?" snapped Harry frustratedly. It was all suddenly so clear to him, so blatantly obvious that he was mad at himself for not realizing it sooner. "When I died I came to a place like this because I still was on the edge enough that I could go back if that's what I chose. I wasn't truly and properly dead yet. I mean think about it! If you were dead already why would you have come here, to this in between place? Why wouldn't you already be in whatever afterlife there is? There's no point to this in between world if you can only go one way."

Harry was running now, dragging Draco along at an ever increasing pace and sloshing loudly through the water with each step. The water pressed angrily against his legs, the current seeming to become stronger with each step, but now that life seemed like a real option both boys were ready to fight for it.

"You really think I could live again?" gasped Draco through breaths heavy from the exertion of wading upstream.

"You can if I have anything to say about it," replied Harry through gritted teeth. He had saved Draco's life once before from the fiendfyre all those years ago, and he'd be damned if all that effort was going to go to waste, but it wasn't proving to be easy. Going downstream had been simple, effortless, natural, but going upstream was taking forever. The water was going faster and seemed to be growing deeper, pressing more and more of their bodies backwards, but the two pushed on. The other issue was that Harry had no idea just how far upstream he had to get Draco before he could rejoin life. This endless landscape of white space and water held no landmarks, no sense of space at all. For all they knew they could be walking in place or walking in little circles, going nowhere.

Long minutes passed, both boys too focused on pressing onward to talk. The only sounds were the now audible rush of the river and the splashing of the pair's footsteps.

"Are you sure?" asked Draco again, the hope that had given his words enthusiasm earlier starting to fade. Harry opened his mouth to lie and say yes when all of a sudden he felt a pull behind his belly button almost like apparition. The gasp from behind him meant that Draco felt it too. Then, before Harry could speak, before he could even think, the river and Draco vanished to be replaced by black unconsciousness.

Harry awoke to find his face pressed uncomfortably into the wooden floor of Malfoy Manor. It took Harry a moment to orient himself and to remember where he was and how he had gotten there, then a jolt of adrenaline shot through him as he remembered the urgency of his situation. Even at this moment Draco could be slipping back into death. Harry leapt to his feet, running over to the unmoving body on Draco's bed. Harry clumsily crawled onto the bed to lean over Draco, pressing his ear to Draco's chest and scrunching up his eyes as he listened intently to the sounds of Draco's body. There! It was very faint and uneven, but there was unmistakenly a heartbeat. Harry's eyes shot open and he sat up, excitement running through him. There was still a chance. Draco was alive again, now Harry just had to ensure he could stay that way.

Harry grappled hurriedly with the fabric of Draco's shirt, opting to tear away the expensive fabric rather than wasting precious time with its buttons. With Draco's shirt out of the way, Harry could see the full extent of Draco's wounds. It was a rather daunting sight. Harry closed his eyes and allowed himself time for one full, shuddering breath before he began casting every healing charm he had ever learned. Multicolored light danced around Draco's torso as the combined effects of various spells took place. Draco's skin steamed for a moment, the blood staining his sheets and coating his skin vibrating briefly before being sucked back into Draco's flesh. Then Draco's skin sealed itself, closing Draco's wounds until they were nothing but dark lines of raised skin dividing up his chest.

Harry sat there in tense silence for a moment, staring down at Draco's body in suspense. He had done everything he knew how to do. There was nothing more he could do for Draco now.

"You're a twat, Potter," gasped a gravelly, wheezy voice and Harry couldn't help laughing, a huge, relieved smile taking hold of his face.

"So are you, Malfoy," he retorted fondly.

"Help me sit up, will you?" demanded Draco, his muscles straining as he tried to right himself.

"Hey, woah there!" exclaimed Harry, reaching out hurriedly to cradle Draco's head and shoulder as the other boy pushed himself up into a seated position. "I don't know if you should be moving just yet! I'm no great healer after all."

"No," winced Draco as his wounds reminded him of their positions. "You're obviously not…"

"We should get you to St. Mungos," murmured Harry, examining Draco's pained face with concern.

"Yes," agreed Draco, looking into Harry's eyes calculatingly. "We should."

"Here," said Harry, slinging one of Draco's arms around his shoulders so that he could lift most of Draco's weight. "Do you think you can walk if I help to support you?" Draco nodded.

"Yeah, I think so, but just hold on a second would you, Potter?" Draco shifted out of Harry's hold slightly so that Harry's arm was still tucked around him, but he had enough room to turn and face the green eyed boy.

"I don't want anything to be too late anymore," he muttered before closing the distance between them and pressing a gentle kiss to Harry's lips. Harry froze, taken aback for a moment, then he let his eyes slip shut and returned the kiss, pulling Draco tight against him.

"Ouch, Potter! Stab wounds, remember?" Harry quickly relaxed his hold on Draco, chuckling an embarrassed little laugh.

"Whoops! I forgot," he explained apologetically. Draco sat there in exasperated silence for a moment, torn between wanting to call Potter a twat again and wanting to kiss him. He finally settled on kissing him.

Death strode casually down the stone path away from Malfoy Manor, a smug smile curling up the corners of his thin lips. There was nothing like a plan executing itself perfectly. Death knew he probably shouldn't meddle in the lives of the living so much, but he found it hard to feel repentant about it. After all, when it all boiled down to it, wasn't it really Death's job to interrupt people's lives? Besides, it would get horribly boring if all he did was take lives away over and over for all eternity. Death's self-satisfied thoughts were interrupted by an indignant, territorial squawk from a few feet away.

"Oh bloody fucking hell!" exclaimed Death as the albino peacock fluffed up its feathers and charged. "I'm too old for this shit," he grumbled under his breath as he sprinted straight through the gates to Malfoy Manor and vanished, leaving a smug peacock behind in his wake as well as a very much alive Draco Malfoy.

*Author's Note: Well there you guys have it! I hope you liked it! Please review with any comments or requests and I hope you'll check out my other stories! Thanks for reading! :D*


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